The Pig
by DominiqueMorgenstern
Summary: Featuring: dubious thievery; car porn; Blue Sargent making Richard Gansey look like an idiot; lots of subtext. One-shot.


Apparently, the way to steal things from Gansey was to do it right under his nose. Especially if you were called Blue Sargent, and Gansey happened to believe that you were sensible and trustworthy and other synonyms for_ unlike Ronan Lynch._

When she arrived at Monmouth, the drive was very noticeably devoid of its brightest ornament and its owner was likewise nowhere to be seen inside the building's walls. The door was open, so she assumed that Ronan was skulking in his room, either feeding Chainsaw scraps of some carcass or doing something nefarious and possibly illegal. She had no desire to announce her presence to him. She sat down and waited it out. She turned her gaze around the cold, industrial space and considered the likelihood of spare keys being hidden somewhere. If there was, she was certain they would not be easy to find. She wondered how Ronan had done it. Then she heard the chugging rumble of the Camaro, the tremendous noise of the engine reverberating through the walls as it pulled up on the drive.

Without thinking, she leapt up and darted behind an open door. She heard the car door slam outside. _What am I doing? _She panicked.

The front door opened, and then shut. "Jane?"

She squeezed her eyes closed, her heart throbbing in her chest. She sincerely regretting ever agreeing to do this.

Her mother's boyfriend had been giving her intense driving lessons over the past few weeks. Specifically, in how to drive a stick shift: a fact she'd kept secret from Gansey, Adam, Ronan and Noah, though she wasn't sure why. The first few lessons had been mostly: stalling, stalling, _what is this clutch thing how does it even work why is it so temperamental what's the point of it why bother driving these cars—oh jesus what was that noise—why would you make driving deliberately more difficult than it needs to be—oh. _That's _how you do it. _Then, yesterday, Dean Allen had turned to her and informed her solemnly that to be a truly accomplished driver, she needed to steal a car.

Her reply was: what.

Him: it's a rite of passage.

Her: it's also a crime.

Him: bring it back and it isn't. The more valuable the better.

Her: who do _I _know with a valuable c—

Face blank, he'd raised his eyebrows at her knowingly.

Her: no. He'd kill me.

Calla had joined them at that point, having meandered over, and leaned against the car. She'd said, I don't think you know Gansey-Fancy Boy very well at all. I sense he would perversely enjoy the idea of you stealing his car. She'd twisted around and drilled her gaze down at Dean, in the passenger seat. She said, I bet you thirty.

Him: which way?

Calla had slid her eyes over to her for a brief moment, weighing her. She'd smirked and said, she won't.

Him: Fifty that she will.

In that moment, Blue was immensely pleased with her mother's choice in men. She told him firmly, if I do this, then I at least get a percentage of that. Half.

Then there was some haggling, finally followed by—fair enough.

Gansey's footsteps approached. She exhaled carefully on the back of the door, her breath hot and wet, centimeters away from her face. His tone was deeper, brusquer: "Jane."

She tried not to breathe. The footsteps retreated. He yelled, bewilderment colouring his tone, fringed with worry, "Jane!"

She cringed at the grains of wood in the door.

"JANE!"

Noah suddenly materialised. His ghostly eyes went straight to Blue, flattened behind the door—she shook her head fiercely at him, touching a pleading finger to her lips.

Gansey said, "Oh, Noah. Have you seen Jane anywhere?"

Noah turned his eyes very slowly and expressionlessly ahead. "No—pe. No."

"Her bike is outside."

"Is it."

"Yeah. Did she—just forget to take it or something? Is she—with—Adam?"

"Adam hasn't been here. Nor has Blue."

A pause ensued while Gansey chewed on this. "That's odd. You don't think something's happened, do you? I mean, she has no other way of getting home, right?"

Noah made a barely visible shrug. He seemed to be becoming less and less tangible, "I don't know."

"Alright, well. I'm going to—Oh. Bye, then." Noah had vanished. Gansey's footsteps padded away.

There was distant shuffling, a melancholic sigh, rustling of papers, a thump. Then: the clanking of keys being dropped onto a surface. This was her chance. She inhaled, and crept out quietly.

Over there, cross-legged on the floor, ScholarGansey was statuesque, a dreaming stranger; a burnt-out outline bending over cluttered bits of paperwork and cardboard, fingers twiddling a newly glued piece of his miniature Henrietta reconstruction. Dusky, violet-tinted shadows swept across the contours of his face, an unconscious frown clouding his brow. His wire frames were balanced on the tip of his nose, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, the collar askew. His hair, bleached of colour in the shady light, was wavy and rumpled. As Blue stole upon him, she longed feel it, to push her hands up into it, and thought with an ache that she would never be able to do that.

When he finally glanced up, his wistful eyes did not know her. She was swirling through memory. She was back at Nino's; a sharp tap on the shoulder, turning around to an aplomb, polite, handsome face. _Can I help you?_

He did a double take, gasped, jumped, burst out: _"Fuck!" _Then, he turned his face to the side and laughed nervously.

"Oh my god. Did I just hear Gansey say the 'F' word? I feel strangely honoured. I didn't think you had it in you."

His laugh died away as he swiveled his gaze up at her. In her periphery, she saw her prize, the keys, lying on the tabletop. "Where have you been?" He asked, "I was calling you. Loudly."

She pulled out her earphones from her jacket pocket and swung them at him. "Bathroom." She looked around, and tried to drift casually over to the tabletop.

His eyes followed her. "Right." He didn't sound convinced.

She was forced to move past the keys—she couldn't take them when he was still watching her. Leaning against the edge, she knew she needed to distract him. She pointed down to his miniature Henrietta. "Dean says he's sorry about that, by the way." He looked down and she nabbed the keys, sliding them into her jacket pocket.

He looked back around at her. "He's _Dean _now?"

She shrugged. "You're right. I should take a leaf out of your book and rename him. How about, Cody?"

Gansey levelled her a disdainful look. "Have you been at Nino's, _Jane?_"

"No, I have not, Gansey."

"Then where?"

"Um," She couldn't think of a lie. She kicked her left foot with her right boot. "I need to go, actually."

"You. Need. To go. Now?"

Blue scratched her head. "Mm—yeah."

Gansey's head tilted at her inquisitively. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

He raised his eyebrows. Rather than sarcastic, his voice was deflated. "Obviously."

"Oh for god's sake. Look. I need to go. But—I'll be back. Soon. And: I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"What I'm about to do."

She turned; she ran.

The rush that Blue felt as she reversed out of the drive, watching Gansey throw open the front door, jogging after her helplessly, was incredible. She felt, in that moment, an unexpected communion with Ronan; why this life was so suddenly so attractive. There was a limp smile on Gansey's face as he shouted, "Bring it back!"

She waved as she drove off. Stealing his car satisfied a gnarled, spiteful craving inside her: to see him, the boy who had it all, for once, without; to see him, for once, experience the sting of deprivation. Her eyes flew to the rear view mirror. A solitary shape, hands in pockets, he'd already lowered his eyes. His smile deadened as he turned away. Her high was instantly conquered by guilt; she considered screeching to a halt, turning back, but the Camaro's tyres did not swerve an inch.

She sped out towards 300 Fox Way, acutely aware that she was inhabiting a space not belonging to her. But it did not resist her. It tried her on for size, decided to extend a hand, and threw her into its rhythm. It was a truly gorgeous car to drive. In comparison, the Mitsu seemed sharp-edged, hyper, recalcitrant. She had to get used to the slippery, sinuous motions of the gear stick; the groove from second to third, from fourth to fifth, ever so slightly different from the last. Everything about the car was charismatic, sophisticated, spiced by his personal touch. She pushed the accelerator, and felt the engine flex outwards, yielding and reshaping its tension around her.

The sound of the engine announced her arrival. Dean appeared outside the front door with a gratified look. He lifted a flat palm up at Calla, who was standing beside him. She handed him the fifty dollars with a poisonous glare. "Hey!" Blue switched off the ignition and jumped out the car. "Half of that's mine."

Dean flicked through a couple of notes and handed them to her. She looked meaningfully at Calla as she thanked him.

He said, "Use that to cut yourself your own."

She followed his gaze down to her hand, where the Camaro's keys were dangling from her fingers.

"Why," Gansey began as Blue got out of the Camaro, slamming the door shut behind her, "Do I only seem to be capable of befriending _thieves?_"

"Ah, but that's not the meaning of 'thievery'. I did not keep this vehicle," she wandered around the hood, and leaned against it. She stretched out her legs and hooked one ankle over the other. "I am returning. And, unlike Lynch, I am returning it pure and untarnished and whole and entirely like it was when I commandeered it in the first place. Except," She turned around to the car, and then back to him, "I suppose the insides stink of my perfume now, and everything I've touched is smeared with my general femininity." She looked him up and down contemplatively. "You can feel all _unmanned _next time you drive it. You might have to, you know, reclaim your territory. Stick one of your mint plants on the dash. Maybe something more phallic shaped."

She didn't manage to finish before smiles edged across both of their faces. He considered the twilit sky, shaking his head. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Since when do you even drive? _A stick shift?_"

"Since my mom's boyfriend either does something productive or begins to dismember things."

"Well." He rubbed the tip of his thumb into his bottom lip. "You picked _that_ up fast."

She stared at him for a moment. "You were going to say 'for a girl', weren't—"

"No, I wasn—"

"Or, maybe 'for a _poor _girl of average intelli—"

His voice swung low, booming over hers threateningly. "_Jane."_

"It doesn't matter. I can't be bothered to argue. I'm still too high from the petrol fumes and the delights of The Richard Gansey Camaro Experience."

Gansey made a short, hearty noise—a laugh. Then stepped backwards, folding his arms across his chest, looking down on her. "Jesus. _Are _you high?"

She decided not to deign this with a response. She blinked.

"And _actually," _he said, jerking a finger towards her, "I was _going _to say you picked that up _a lot faster than I did._"

Inside, she rejoiced. "Yeah, well. Just a knack. I guess it's quite straightforward once you have the basics."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "There is nothing _basic _about my car. It is a gloriously and infuriatingly complicated creature and it deserves your revere—"

"Yeah, whatever. I'll go visit the shrine some other time."

Blue walked over to where she'd left her bike, against the wall of Monmouth. Gansey turned, eyes trailing after her, "Well, just in case Adam or Ronan gave you the wrong impression: the pig isn't for rental."

Blue clambered onto the bike's seat, gripping the handles. She tucked a falling lock of dark hair behind her ear, and looked ahead. "_Gansey_. You do realise that the more possessive you get over your car, the more we're gonna steal it, right?"

"You're planning to do this _again—_wait, are you—you're just going to _leave?_"

Blue's foot was poised on the pedal. "Sorry. Is that what it looks like I'm doing?"

He gave her a withering look.

"So you want me to stay? That's very sweet of you. And we do, what? You sit me down; I apologise _again, _you rephrase 'My car isn't for rental' seventy three times while I—knit, or something. Think about all the homework I could be doing."

He said flatly, "You can knit."

"Of course. One of my multifarious talents." _Jesus, _she thought, _did I just say 'multifarious'? He's a terrible influence. _She pushed down on the bike's pedal, spinning her other leg round. "Hey, uh, next time I get the needles out I might knit you some socks. In that _exact _shade of orange." She gestured towards the Camaro, smiling. "So you can look extra-hideous in those boat shoes."

"Leave _off _my shoes. And my car. There's nothing wrong wi—"

She said, "Who even named it 'The Pig'?"

"What—"

"I bet it was Ronan. Some kind of kick at the cops?"

"What are you even talking—"

Still appraising the car, she said, "Why would you do that? It's not even _pink. _It's_orange_. He should have called it _Spray Tan, _or something_._"

He came up to her, blocking her path. "You're trying to distract me." He put his legs around the front wheel of her bike.

Feeling mischievous, she feigned a sheepish expression and glanced away. "I hate to bring it up, but do you know what would happen right now if I just—rode forwards slightly?"

She saw his eyes sneak downwards, and the dawning on his face as he looked up, his mouth opening, closing. Then he leant down and brutally clenched the front tyre with one hand, a smile reluctantly twisting his lips.

She said, "Don't you dare burst my tyre—"

He projected his voice. "You're trying to distract me." He proffered an open palm towards her. "I think you've forgotten to give me something."

Slowly, she lifted her hand into the air, and delved down into her bra.

He rolled his head back. "Are you _kidd—"_

She dropped her hand, and laughed. Reaching down into her right boot (her new set snugly in her left), she fished the keys out, flourishing them in front of his face, and placed them on his palm. "You know, you might have an IQ of like, 160, and have been destined for an Ivy League college since birth, but. You're gullible as shit."

"Thank you, Jane. My ego deeply appreciates that comment."

"I'm sure it does. Off my bike, now."

"Careful." He said, stepping away. "You know what happens when people get possessive."

She shook her head. "Only when it's remotely valuable. This thing is probably worth less than your goddamn trash can."

Gansey's head was bent. "Have you—seen Adam?"

Blue shut her eyes and exhaled."No," She opened them. "Adam and I are not currently_seeing _one another."

"_Jane. _I'm serious. I have no idea where he is—"

"And you're worried about him? Why would _I _know where he is?"

"I don't know—I was just asking—Jesus, why are you _angry?_"

"I am n—Can we not just have a whole conversation without talking about him? I thought we were and then you ruined it! You _had _to mention him. Everything I do comes back to him, doesn't it?"

"No—what—Jane—" But Blue was already pedaling away. Then, she was being dragged backwards, his hand gripping the upper half of her arm. She kicked out a foot, scraping it along the sidewalk, arresting her movement. She glowered round at Gansey's hand: he snatched it away, his arms raising in surrender. His cheeks were faintly flushed, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry."

"No. Don't." She let go of her bike, letting it tumble awkwardly to the ground. She strode up to him. "You don't get it, do you? You can't be _afraid, _like that_. _You can't. Touch me," She seized his hand and shoved it against her chest. "You have to learn to _touch me_, _and not care. _Just like you would anyone else—if you let yourself care, then this'll never go away."

He frowned down at his hand, covering her chest. He blinked. "Is that what this means? That…you don't care? It's all _gone away _for you?"

"What? No, I—Gans—" But he'd already ripped away his hand and turned. She was almost about to shout the truth when it occurred to her that it was better this way. _If he thinks you don't care, _she reasoned, _he'll move on faster. _

She watched his retreating figure despondently and vowed, _I won't be the one to kill you. I promise. I won't. _


End file.
